The Wise Die Young

The adolescent triumphs that the skin
Now holds against the tropic sun,
The Riviera color which we win
From beaches which we now shun,

Wounds of honor which we crave
In the race for girls and fun,
To keep away the wind, the grave,
From what was all and now is none,

Bandaged up where once we strode,
Drowned in treasures that we found,
Felled by seeds that late we sowed,
Stopped by the watches that we wound:

The wise die younger to escape the times
And their attendant accidental rhymes.

November 12th, 2017, Kawela